Paranormal Obligations
by Black.Wings.2006
Summary: Isabelle Wilson hasn't always been what she's become - in more ways than one. Bitter and out of control, will Isabelle be able to protect those she cares about while fulfilling her otherworldly duties? Time can only tell. Dean W/OC
1. Chapter o1

Unfortunately for me, out of body experiences weren't an uncommon occurrence. They're indescribable. A modern equivalent could be that of a nasty hangover while you're forced to ride the teacups at Disney World. You've consumed so much alcohol that your body's natural instinct, along with the forces of nature, is to puke and purge yourself of the toxins raging through your blood stream. Except for me, it was never that easy.

Instinctively, I closed my eyes against the brilliance, a consuming white heat that spread through every fiber of my being. A warm breeze followed, softly brushing against my skin and playfully lifting my honey-colored hair from my shoulders. I took a deep breath, smelling the familiar otherworldly scents of the righteous, and sighed. Some things were easy to deceive.

Calmly, I centered myself before opening my eyes to the glorious world before me. Beautiful, gorgeous, stunning - only a few human words to describe what I saw that would never come close. Deep within my soul, a part of me wanted to return to this place, my home; a part of me knew I never could. Shaking my head, I placed my hand on my hip, portraying a look of sheer annoyance.

"Zachariah! Get your cocky ass down here and tell me what was so damn important that you had to summon me!"

Before the echoes of my aggravated voice had the chance to fade, a middle-aged man appeared, an amused smile on his face.

"Isabelle, your time on earth has definitely added colorful words to your vocabulary."

"Yeah, I'm getting used to it. By the way Zachariah, nice vessel. Suits you well." I countered with a smirk, taking in the receding gray hair and the ever-so-slightly protruding gut. "Now let's get down to business. You know I have better shit to do."

"You have a new assignment."

"You had to summon me for that?" I snapped.

"Easy, Belle. There's more to it than that and you're not going to like it."

I glared at him. "That's Isabelle to you, Zachariah, and since when have I liked any of these mediocre paper boy assignments you've sent me on?"

He scoffed, clearly becoming impatient with my asinine remarks. "Dean Winchester."

Taken aback, I immediately became somber. "Zachariah, you know we are strictly forbidden from interfering with the Winchester boys until commanded otherwise."

"We've been commanded otherwise," was his detailed response.

"Like hell. On whose authority?"

"God's."

It was my turn to scoff. "You know as well as I do that God hasn't sat in the holy throne of Heaven since his son gave the holy sacrament."

"Joshua himself gave this consecrated assignment to you, Isabelle. You are to watch over the Winchester boys and help them fulfill their destinies."

'**_...even though you'll never fulfill your own..._**' Pushing the dark thought from my mind, I bowed my head in acquiescence, though my suspicions still remained.

"As Joshua says, so it shall be done."

With a sharp intake of breath I was fiercely jerked backwards, falling from the heavenly dominion. Millions of stars blurred past my vision as the luminescent glow of Heaven quickly faded from above. With an otherworldly force, my translucent spirit slammed back into my fragile body. Immediately I shot up in bed, gasping for air as I placed a shaky hand on my chest. Mechanically I closed my eyes in a futile attempt to soothe the raging fire burning my retinas, having experienced the sensation several times before. Finally when I felt I could open my eyes without tearing, I did so slowly. Through the east-facing window of my room, I could see a brilliant tapestry of pink hues begin to light the morning sky, heavily contrasted by the bulky **Motel 6** sign. Rising I moved toward the bathroom, removing my pajamas and underwear as I went. As I turned the faucet and listened to the calming sound of rushing water, one final thought entered my head.

'_...and so it begins._'


	2. Chapter o2

**Sam**

Sam looked through the blinds of the only real window in the cramped interrogation room to the city below, desperately pushing his mind to conceive some unimaginable means of escape for himself and his brother. Sure, they'd had run-ins with the law before, but nothing quite like this. Fighting demons was simpler than trying to convince the police that you were honestly just trying to keep the peace. Sam sighed as he heard the door open. God only knew what would happen if they knew the whole truth.

"Thought you might be thirsty," a middle-aged woman spoke, offering a styrofoam coffee mug.

"'Kay, so you're the good cop. Where's the bad cop?" He recognized her as Detective Ballard, having been his arresting officer from the hotel.

"Oh he's with your brother." She smiled.

"Okay, and you're holding us _why_?"

"Well he's being held on suspicion of murder. And you? We'll see."

"Murder!" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. They'd been a lot of things through the years, but murderers wasn't one of them.

"You sound genuinely surprised...or are you that good of an actor?" Ballard's smug look of skepticism gave Sam a sharp twinge of irritation.

"Who was he supposed to have murdered?"

"We'll get around to that."

"Well you can't just hold us here without formal charges!" Exasperated, Sam was immediately thankful for the leverage his short-lived pre-law education gave him.

"Well actually we can for forty-eight hours, but you being a pre-law student would know that." She retaliated, her beady gaze filled with suspicion. "I know all about you, Sam. You're twenty-three years old - no job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby; your father's whereabouts are unknown. And then there's the case of your brother Dean, whose demise was, well, just a little bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like."

Sam leaned against the desk placed at the far wall and defensively crossed his arms over his chest. She thought she knew it all - that his tragic life could be summed up in a depressing paragraph and explain why he and his brother had apparently turned into delinquents - but the truth was she didn't know the half of it. Forming the only respectable response he could give the investigator, Sam raised his brows and looked away.

"Should I? No problem, I'll keep going. Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride. Then about a year ago, there was a fire in your apartment, one fatality - **Jessica Moore**, your girlfriend. After she died you fell off the grid, left behind everything."

A sharp stab of pain radiated from the center of Sam's chest as he heard Jessica's name. As if her death hadn't left enough of an emotional scar on his soul, he needed this cocky detective to openly imply he had been the one to cause it. Sam met the officer's eyes and answered her honestly. "I needed some time off...to deal. So I'm taking a road trip with my brother."

Suddenly the door opened and another woman walked in. From the looks of it she could have been anywhere from her late twenties to early thirties, but Sam couldn't tell. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was pulled into a messy bun, held together by stylish chopsticks. She wore a black Armani skirt suit that flattered her curves and complimented the copper tone of her skin, complete with matching black pumps. Dark, thin-rimmed glasses covered her mysterious emerald eyes Sam was surprised to see were trained on him. Her full lips pulled into a smile as she noticed his lingering gaze, and Sam quickly, yet very obviously, looked away.

"Detective Ballard, I'm Isabelle Marx from the Public Defender's Office. I'm Sam and Dean's lawyer, and I'd like a moment to consort with my client...**alone**." She smiled, adding a firm dismissal when Ballard looked reluctant to leave the interrogation room.

"I'll be back." With a quick look from Sam to the formidable lawyer, she left the room.

"Sam, I'm going to make this quick, so sit down, shut up, and listen." Isabelle turned to Sam, sitting on the edge of the table and offering the chair across from her with a quick wave of her hand.

Sam immediately sat, wondering what this curious woman could want with his brother and himself. He leaned closer to her, inhaling the sweet smell of honey and lavender that seemed to emanate from her body.

"She's not a vengeful spirit, Sam, she's a death omen," Isabelle smirked at the incredulous look on Sam's face. "and Dana Schulps isn't a name, it's an anagram."

"Wait...but...how?" Sam spluttered, incapable of assembling a complete thought.

"Look, _Houdini_, I'll explain everything later. Get your ass to Ashland St, toast that poor girl's corpse, solve your case, and meet me here." Isabelle pulled a small notepad from the inside pocket of her blouse and borrowed the abandoned pen from the table. She quickly scrawled the location in her feminine handwriting and ripped the note from the pad, handing it to Sam.

With an overwhelming look of confusion, he took the note and glanced at the address. "110 Saint Paul St. You mean the Quality Inn?"

"Absolutely, gorgeous." Isabelle straightened, heading to the door. "And Sam," she turned, glancing at Sam over her shoulder, "don't keep me waiting."


	3. Chapter o3

After using my feminine powers of persuasion, I hastily entered my half-priced hotel room on the third floor of the Quality Inn motel with a triumphant smile. Amazing what showing a little cleavage and some audacious flirting could get a girl these days. '_**Harlot,**_' an amused voice echoed in my mind.

"Takes one to know one!" I answered nonchalantly, tossing the room key on the bedside table.

Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since I'd introduced myself to Sam. From my personal research on the Winchester boys, I knew it'd only be a matter of hours before they showed up at my doorstep. Hopefully we could skip the demonic inquiries and get straight down to business, but only time would tell. Suddenly, my lime green Motorola Razr vibrated from the depths of my purse and I smiled - they'd exceeded my expectations.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Isabelle? It's Sam." Sam's voice sounded unsure but determined.

"Third floor, room #132." I clicked the phone shut and replaced it in my purse.

Few moments passed when I heard the mechanical '_ding_' of the elevator and the approaching sound of footfalls. Before they had the chance to knock, I quickly swung the door open, and addressed the two men known as Sam and Dean Winchester.

"I'm relieved that that blossoming bell-boy managed to tear his eyes away from my chest long enough to remember to give you my number. Come in," I ordered, moving aside as they obeyed.

Sam looked the same as when I'd first met him. Tall - about 6'4" - and well proportioned for his size. His shaggy brown hair fell around his face and nearly covered his hazel eyes. He had a wide, pointed nose that fit perfectly against his square jaw and slightly cleft chin. Dean was barely shorter than his brother, about 6'1". He shared the characteristic dark brown hair, except his was trimmed, and kept in an attractive, small faux hawk. His nose was imperceptibly crooked, evidence of a previous break, but that only made him look more ruggedly handsome. He had a strong jaw, complete with the softly cleft chin - yet I was entranced by the firm set of his full lips and the intensity of his pale brown eyes. I was finally drawn from my musings by the sound of a cocking gun, and refocused my gaze to stare down the barrel of a .45 pistol.

"_Hello._" Dean purred, raising his brows as he encouraged my drifting eyes with a smirk.

"You are so barking up the wrong tree." I retorted, crossing my arms and raising my brow at the gun pointed directly at my forehead.

"Uh, just a precaution." Sam nervously cut in, glancing from his brother to myself.

"How did you know about the anagram?" Dean demanded, instantly becoming serious.

"All in good time, sweetheart." I replied, lowering the gun with the tips of my fingers. "Now why don't we act civilized?"

Dean snorted, pulling a silver flask from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "Thirsty?"

"Holy water, how very preschool of you." I irritatedly snatched the flask from his hand, opened the top, took a quick swig, and swallowed. "Now that I'm not foaming at the mouth, can we drop the formalities?"

"Huh." Dean glanced from the flask to my unwrithing body and returned the holy water to his pocket. He turned to Sam and gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I'm Isabelle Wilson; you may not call me Belle. I'm twenty-five years old, and a damn good hunter. I'm a Libra. Jack, Jim, and José are my three favorite men. So much as glance at either of my feminine body parts, I will shoot first; ask questions later. Are we clear?"

Sam glanced at his brother, then turned to me and slowly raised his hand like he was back in the fifth grade.

"Yes, Sam?" I failed miserably at attempting to contain the amused smile that now filled my lips.

"What exactly does that have to do with us?"

"Your father asked me to watch out for you." Technically it wasn't a lie.

"Bullshit. Our dad died nearly two months ago." Dean's angry gaze bored into mine.

"He, uh, has friends in high places." I sighed. I'm a terrible liar. "Boys, I think it's time we paid a visit to our old friend Bobby Singer."

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"We're here." Dean called from the front seat, waking me from a short-lived nap.

A feeling of comfortable familiarity filled me as we pulled into the overrun junkyard. Bobby's two story house soon came into view, the dark siding decorated by his signature hub caps. Dean parked next to Bobby's old, beat up Ford and killed the engine. Immediately I took the opportunity to evacuate the back seat as '_You Shook Me All Night Long_' by AC/DC looped through my subconscious. Shaking my head in a futile attempt to dislodge the tune, I shut the car door and followed the boys toward the rickety porch.

"Bobby!" Dean shouted our arrival as he quickly knocked on the door before letting himself inside.

"What do you idgets want?" Bobby's gruff voice called from the back room.

"I do love me a countrified man." I playfully taunted in a backwoods accent, smiling at Bobby's remark.

"Isabelle?" He questioned with disbelief.

"In the flesh!"

We were walking around the corner to the main study when suddenly I couldn't move, though Sam and Dean continued through the archway to greet Bobby. I felt caged, confined to a claustrophobic amount of space that seemed to chain me to the floor. As I willed my legs to move, their only response was to tremble against some unseen force. Frustrated, I gazed up toward the ceiling, viewing a vast blank expanse of yellowed, cracked plaster. Reluctantly I looked down toward the wood-paneled floor and found the dusty rug beneath my feet. '_Fuck._'

"Bobby, give my regards to the decorator."


	4. Chapter o4

"Shit."

"Thank you for your insightful wisdom Bobby! I was planning on revealing my slight handicap on a more appropriate occasion, but we may as well let this screaming cat out of the bag!" I bitterly flipped the rug, exposing the bold maroon seal of a devil's trap.

"Bobby that's a devil's trap." Sam stated, unable to remove his eyes from the intricate markings.

"What're you, a genius?" Bobby snapped, moving closer to Dean.

"I let that bitch ride in my car?" Dean raged, reaching for one of Bobby's firearms.

"Bitch is such a derogatory term, Dean," I countered, nervously pacing the circumference of the circle. "I prefer something more high class."

Bobby fought Dean for control of the loaded shotgun, but Dean overpowered him and curtly knocked him to the floor. Sam could only watch in horror as he struggled to interpret the facts of what had occurred. As Dean strode toward me with murderous intent, I determinedly stood my ground, matching his aggressive gaze with my own.

"You have five minutes." He growled, placing the barrel precariously against my throat.

"Family is everything." I whispered, unable to find my voice. Dean's deadly facade faltered at my words but instantly returned as he drew the hammer in encouragement. "Nine years ago I watched as my parents were maliciously slaughtered. Someone had been envious enough to offer them as sacrifice for their own demonic motives. I relived waking up to their gruesome screams for over a year, and the image of their mangled bodies with blood spattered everywhere reappeared every time I closed my eyes. You can empathize when I finally decided to take my own life." My words choked in my throat as I bit my cheek to prevent the hot tears from spilling from my eyes. Dean's expression was detached, but I noticed the feral glint had receded from his gaze. "Before I could embrace that terrifying numbness, an apparition appeared. At first I thought that was the normal process of dying, until it spoke to me. They promised retribution; that one day I could exact my revenge and rid the world of such an atrocious abomination. I only needed to uphold my end of the bargain - and then they gave me this."

With a swift motion I firmly grasped the denim leg of my jeans and ripped. Near the junction of my thighs, a pale symbol was branded against my skin - the trinity; a perpetual constraint against the dark monster concealed within my soul. Our binding link.

I hadn't noticed Bobby had recovered until he appeared next to Dean, glaring with unrestrained tenacity. With a swat of his hand Bobby lowered the shotgun and promptly scuffed the ruby seal with the edge of his boot. As I felt the restrictive force evaporate around me, I seized the opportunity to remove myself from my public humiliation, and urgently left the house.

* * *

><p>Outside on the porch, I felt comforted as the delicate breeze cooled my flushed cheeks. Above me, the boundless expanse of night sky absorbed my anguish; the tiny stars silent vigils to my thoughts. Roughly an hour had passed since I'd overheard the muffled indications of a violent argument between Dean and Bobby. Through my travels as a girl, I'd been drawn to South Dakota after hearing vague rumors about a quick-witted hunter, gambling on the chance he'd understand my unique condition. Consistent with Dean's overly defensive reaction, Bobby had half-drowned me in holy water before he realized something was clearly amiss. At first he was distant, cautiously studying me as though I was an elaborate explosive device on the verge of detonating. With time, Bobby became fond of me and we'd been inseparable ever since. '<em>I love that eccentric old man.<em>'

"Can I join you?" Dean's male voice filled the thick silence, causing me to jump.

My resentful gaze met his and I guiltily looked away. "Are you going to try to shoot me again?" I questioned softly.

"No," He shamefully looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm-"

"Dean, you were only doing what was natural for an experienced hunter - kill or be killed. God forbid you meet a demon and invite them to tea instead of instantly sending them straight to hell. I'm not angry with you, I'm upset with myself for letting the both of you find out that way."

Dean regarded me with dark eyes. In the moonlight his face looked flawless, untouched by the malevolent lore he constantly battled. Small shadows bordered his full lips, making them more captivating than normal. Against the dim light of the moon, his eyes shone a soft mesmerizing green, almost begging me to get lost within them.

"Bobby says you don't normally look like this." Dean's gaze flicked from my eyes to my hair.

"I don't."

"Can you show me?"

Apprehensively I studied him with my eyes, wondering exactly how he'd react to my natural appearance. He hadn't exactly accepted my unnatural affliction as gracefully as I'd hoped.

"Please?" Dean's eyes betrayed his remorse, and with a sigh I nodded my head.

Reaching for the thick threads of hazel tresses, I gave a firm tug and felt the wig loosely fall into my hands. Shaking my head, I allowed the familiar blond hair to fall around my shoulders before I self-consciously ran a quick hand through the supple strands. I smiled insecurely, contemplating whether I should continue revealing myself.

"Well that's not so bad." Dean encouraged, offering a smile.

Furrowing my brows, I turned and faced away from Dean. I could sense the nearly tangible confusion radiate from his body as I inhaled a calming breath and exhaled all of my doubt. Carefully, I raised my fingers to my eyes and removed the colored contacts that disguised my demonically acquired defect. Returning to my original position, I hesitated, ashamed of what he would see. Noticing my downcast gaze, Dean leaned over and surprised me by delicately raising my chin until I was forced to meet his eyes.

**Dean**

Bright crimson orbs stared back at him, filled with uncertainty as he forced her to look at him. Illuminated by the moon, Dean could see the thin line of shimmering gold that rimmed her irises, fascinating him. Within the depths of her eyes, he perceived the hidden fear and could only imagine half of the struggle she endured sharing her body with that obscure darkness. Bobby had said she was a container, one of the extraordinarily rare people who could dominate the overly aggressive mentality of a demon. Only an hour ago he'd been ready to blast her to pieces; what would have happened then?

Before either of them could speak, Bobby's clamorous voice called from inside the house. "Dean, you better have set things right, son, 'cause you've got another damn case!"


	5. Chapter o5

**ATTN:** Sorry I haven't posted as quickly as normal, been busy getting ready for Prom and then I had State Convention after that. =] On another note, this chapter will closely follow one of the episodes in season two as I feel it brings out Dean's character for Isabelle, and is extra long to make up for not posting for awhile! Thanks for reading lovelies! Supernatural ©: Eric Kripke.

**Missouri**

"Damn, Dean, you have an incredibly well-kept physique for someone who ingests so many carbohydrates." I observed as Dean happily swallowed the last of his deluxe bacon cheeseburger.

"A man's gotta eat, and the only thing I eat is meat." Dean smirked, licking the grease off his fingers.

"He's a poet and didn't even know it." I mocked him, picking at the last of my chef salad.

"You don't eat meat?" Sam questioned optimistically, knowing his mostly vegetarian diet was a little less than manly.

"Oh no, I love a well-cooked medium rare eight ounce steak with a baked potato." I smiled at Sam apologetically. "I just prefer not to consume meat on a daily basis with this voracious beast slumbering in my gut."

"I love a girl that knows how to handle a good piece of meat." Dean replied, crudely winking at me across the table.

"Erm, so much for our low-profile. You've got a warrant in St Louis, and now you're officially in the feds data base." Sam cleared his throat, drawing attention away from his brother's inappropriate behavior and returning it to our current case as he looked up Dean's criminal information.

"Dude I'm like Dillinger or something." Dean smirked enthusiastically at his comparison with the notorious gangster of the 1930s.

"Let's try to make it past your thirty-first birthday, alright _Dillinger_?" I waved my fork at him for added effect.

"Dean, it's not funny. It makes the job harder; we gotta be more careful now." Sam offered, becoming somber as he tried to convince his brother to be serious.

"Well what do they got on you?"

Sam's brows furrowed. "I'm sure they just haven't posted it yet," he said quietly.

"Wait, no accessory? **Nothing**?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Shut up."

"You're jealous." Dean laughed.

"No I'm not." Sam snapped defensively.

"Uh-huh. Alright, what do you got on the case there you innocent, harmless, young man you?" Dean taunted his brother playfully after swallowing a handful of fries.

"Architect Sean Boyd plummeted to his death from the roof of his home, a condominium he designed."

"Graceful." I muttered to myself, wondering why so many people considered free-falling the most intelligent way to end their lives. I certainly knew it wasn't the most pleasant experience.

"Hm. Build a high rise and jump off the top of it, that's classy. When did he call animal control?" Dean questioned.

"Two days earlier."

"Did he actually say 'black dog'?"

"Yeah - vicious, wild, black dog. The authorities couldn't find it; no one else saw it. In fact the authorities are a little confused as to how a wild dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up, and start roaming the halls of the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes the swan dive." Sam summarized from the article in the paper he had printed earlier.

"You think we're dealing with an actual black dog?" Dean sounded skeptical.

"Boys, let's just hope this black dog doesn't turn into something nasty." I griped, unwilling to consider worse possibilities.

"What's the lore on it?" Dean reached for the research Sam offered him.

"It's all pretty vague. I mean, there are spectral black dogs all over the world, but some say they're animal spirits, others say death omens. But anyways, whatever they are, they're big, nasty..." Sam explained.

"Yeah, bet they could hump the crap out of your leg, look at that one!" Dean jokingly held up the paper for us to see. Sam and I shared a look of hopelessness at Dean's exceedingly creative imagination and promptly stood, leaving Dean abandoned in the booth. "What, they could!"

Having decided our first course of action was to question Sean's business partner, we'd made a quick stop at the hotel so the boys could change into their suits. Never before had I seen a man look so handsome, I had a hard time convincing myself that that was actually Dean. Equipped with Oakleys, Sam and Dean looked more than a little debonair as they strode toward the Impala.

"Excuse me, gentlemen? The Men in Black called, they want their wardrobe back!" I giggled from the back seat as they entered the vehicle.

"Don't test me, woman, or I will neuralyze your petite ass and convince you I'm the best you'll ever have." Dean smirked into the rear view before starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.

When we parked next to the architect's reported address, I immediately knew he had personally designed his home. Elegant landscaping graced the front lawn, complete with decorative shrubs and perennials. Large windows were artistically placed for maximum light exposure to the living space which was adorned with designer paintings and furniture. As the brothers headed toward the chic abode, I stayed in the car, unequipped with a fake ID and most importantly, my contacts. Leaning back into the surprisingly comfortable leather seat, I attempted to catch a catnap while they interrogated the man-until I smelt it.

Wafting through the cracked windows, I inhaled the faint but suffocating aroma of rotten eggs and instantly became alert. '_Sulfur?_' I leaned forward, discreetly scanning the high-class neighborhood for the source of the putrid smell. Everything seemed quiet; small children played in the lawn, an avid jogger paced around the block, and the old couple down the street merrily trimmed the bushes. Convinced I'd imagined it, I internally scolded myself for being so irrational and settled back into my seat.

A small shriek escaped my lips as the ghastly specter appeared from behind the treeline. Muzzle raised firmly toward the sky, the colossal dog purposefully scented the air, tracking its victim. Scars and burns covered the canine's obsidian coat, pulled taught against its muscled form. Scarlet blood continually leaked from the inflamed welts scattered across it's macabre form and slowly oozed from its nostrils. A pair of twisted ivory horns jutted from the crown of its skull, contrasted by the dull metal of the thick collar fitted around its neck. Time seemed to slow as the demonic beast's eyes found mine; a feral snarl emitted from its throat, exposing several rows of razor-like fangs. Transfixed, I gazed into those luminous crimson eyes, unable to look away even as the horrific screams of innocent souls being ripped to pieces reverberated in my ears.

"Isabelle?" Sam's gaze was disconcerted as he saw me jump in response to his voice.

"Isabelle, what is it?" Dean asked with concern, noticing the alarmed look in my eyes.

"Well," I swallowed, unable to cure the dry lump in my throat. When I glanced back toward the treeline, the enormous dog was gone; the rancid smell of sulfur seemingly evaporated into the air. "They're definitely not black dogs."

"What are they?" Sam asked as he and Dean entered the car, both quickly examining the surrounding neighborhood with sharp eyes.

"Hellhounds."

After my episode, Dean thought it would be wise to check the local animal shelter for any reports of black dog disturbances. When we arrived Sam offered to remain in the car with me, and I appreciatively nodded my head. Though I knew he would have originally decided to stay on his own, his gesture and solid presence comforted my frazzled nerves. Several minutes passed before Dean reappeared, successfully returning with a thin sheet of paper.

"So?" Sam asked as Dean got into the car.

"Secretary's name is Karlee. She's twenty-three, she kayaks, and _they're real_." Dean devilishly smiled as he answered his brother.

"Well that was redundant. All I heard was, '**I'm desperate**.'" I smirked as Dean turned to face me with a shocked look on his face.

"You didn't happen to ask her if she's seen any black dogs lately did you?" Sam smiled, coughing to cover his laughter.

"Every complaint called in this week about anything big, black, or dog like; there's nineteen calls in all. And uh, I don't know what this thing is." Dean handed Sam a yellow sticky-note attached to the front of the page protector.

"You mean Karlee's Myspace address?" Sam questioned, as if the answer were obvious.

"Yeah, Myspace, what the hell is that?" Sam, chuckled, giving up on his brother. "Seriously, is that like some sort of porn site?"

As I roared with laughter, we pulled away from the Animal Protection Agency and tediously began to check every house on the list. After responding to vicious Chihuahuas and ridiculous Pomeranians, we came to a Dr. Sylvia Pearlman's house. However reluctantly, I remained in the car, and was thankful when no illusory dogs appeared to me.

"Where to?" I questioned as Sam and Dean returned and got comfortable in their seats.

"Lloyd's Bar." Dean revved the engine before we took off.

With a quick pit stop at the hotel for the boys to change and to put in my contacts, we headed toward the countryside. Several miles down the road we finally came upon the desolate pub just as the sun began to fall in the western sky. As we pulled to a stop and parked along the side of the adjoining gravel road, my stomach dropped as I noticed they formed a crossroads before us. Exiting the vehicle, I wandered slowly to the middle, scanning our surroundings for any trace of a demonic presence through the tall indigenous grasses.

"Think someone planted these?" Dean asked as he walked toward a patch of yellow flowers that bordered all sides of the road.

"Yarrow flowers." I murmured, plucking one of the hardy flowers and twisting it in my fingers.

"Yeah, used for certain rituals aren't they?" Dean watched over my shoulder as I examined the flower.

"Yeah, actually, summoning rituals." Sam recollected, suspiciously glancing toward the bar.

"So, two people become sudden successes about ten years ago right around the time they were hanging out here at Lloyd's." Dean paced toward the center where I'd previously been moments ago.

"Jackpot." I dropped the stem and walked over to Dean, bending to my knees and wiping the top layer of gravel away. I grabbed the small shovel Sam offered, and quickly began digging, shoving piles of soft dirt out of the way. Finally the responding '_tink_' of metal on metal allowed me to stop, and I grabbed the small container from the shallow hole, brushing the thin layer of dust from its surface with my hand. Sam and Dean closely hovered above me as I opened the lid, revealing a corked jar, thin bones of a small animal, and an old photograph.

"Be willing to bet that's graveyard dirt, and a black cat bone." Sam spoke as he studied the objects the tin box contained.

"That's serious spell work. I mean that's deep south hoodoo stuff." Dean glanced at his brother before returning his gaze to me as I softly held the tiny aged picture in my hand.

Gasping, my head throbbed with a sudden surge of agonizing pain. My skull felt as though it was going to explode under the pressure, and I dropped the canister, raising my hands to protectively grasp the sides of my head. Sam and Dean's worried voices were faint echoes in my mind as a sudden consuming fog filled my conscious. Flashes of faces flickered in and out of the darkness, until finally a man appeared, somewhere in his early thirties. He sat at a secluded table in the far corner of the bar, nursing the brown whiskey in front of him. Total despair covered his features as a small hand roughly ran down the front of his face. As if summoned, a woman appeared, dressed in a small black dress that fit her sultry form. She addressed the man, seemingly comforting him as she lightly touched his hand upon the table. A few moments passed before she abruptly grabbed his collar from across the table, and dragged his mouth to hers, sealing their deal with a kiss. When I blinked again I was staring straight into the pale blue sky, Sam and Dean anxiously poised above me.

"What happened?" Sam asked, his face strained as I wiped the beaded sweat from my forehead.

"I tapped into the demonic energy that remained from the first pact." I explained, slowly sitting up with the brothers help. "Apparently this bitch has been pretty busy."

"Do you know who's next?" Dean asked as they helped me stand.

"I saw him in the paper Sam was reading while we ate at the diner." My brows furrowed as I tried to remember the name. "Evan Hudson."

* * *

><p>George Darrow, owner of the tiny photograph in the tin container, had been accommodating enough to explain the situation to Sam and Dean when we tracked him down earlier that day. Apparently the demon had stuck around to deviously attain a few more juicy souls, and George gave the boys a small edge before promptly kicking them out of his apartment to live out the limited remainder of his life - goofa dust. Immediately as Sam and Dean entered the car, the spicy aroma filled my nose and instantly repulsed the devilish resident in my body, causing me slight discomfort. Noticing I had moved as far from the passenger seat as possible, Sam apologetically stuffed the satchel into the glove compartment and quickly shut the door. Once we'd arrived at Evan Hudson's house, we briskly exited the vehicle and approached the broad oak door; placing Dean between myself and Sam, who carried the satchel. Sam loudly knocked at the door and a few moments later an older version of the man I'd seen in my vision appeared, looking slightly confused.<p>

"Yes?"

"Evan Hudson?" Sam asked.

"Yeah?"

"You ever been to a bar called Lloyd's? Would've been about ten years ago?" Dean's words made Evan's gaze widen in suspicion before he slammed the door in our faces.

"Come on, we're not demons!" Dean awkwardly looked down at me from the corner of his eye and fidgeted. "Most of us, anyway." He muttered; his remark earning a swift punch to the shoulder.

"Any other bright ideas?" Sam asked, slightly agitated.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother before he leaned back and forcefully kicked the door open, revealing a plain entry hall. Glancing at the stairs, I pointed upward as I heard the soft click of a door being closed. Sam and Dean nodded in understanding and together we softly tip-toed up the wooden stairs to the second floor. Approaching the double doors to the study, Dean again readied himself to kick in the door. Catching his knee, I gave him an incredulous look as I reached for the handle and turned; victoriously smirking at him as it opened freely.

"Evan?" Sam called into the silence as we cautiously entered the spacious study.

"Please! Don't hurt me!" Evan appeared from the small nook in the bookshelf, shaking severely.

"We're not gonna hurt you, alright? We're here to help you." Sam offered, trying to calm Evan.

"We know all about the genius deal you made."

"What? How?" Evan's fear turned into shocked curiosity.

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is we're trying to stop it." Sam answered.

"How do I know you're not lying?" Evan spoke defensively.

"Well you don't, but you're kind of running low on options there, buddy-boy." Dean knew the circumstances were do or die for him at this point.

"Can you stop it?" Evan betrayed his growing terror.

"We'll do everything we can." I spoke softly, slowly reaching out to grasp his shoulder in reassurance.

"I don't want to die." He said quietly, placing a shaking hand over his face.

"'Course you don't, not now." Dean replied with resentment.

"Dean, stop." Sam said, looking at his brother.

"What'd you ask for anyway, huh? Never need Viagra, pull a perfect game, what?"

Evan swallowed before answering. "My wife."

"Right gettin' the girl, well that's worth a trip to hell for." Dean spoke sarcastically.

"Dean!" I glared at him from my place next to Evan, wondering what the hell had crawled up his ass.

"No, he's right I made the deal." Evan looked at me appreciatively for defending him. "Nobody twisted my arm. That, uh, woman - or whatever she was - at the bar, she said I could have anything I wanted. I thought she was nuts at first, but...I don't know I was desperate." He explained.

"Desperate?" Sam questioned, slightly confused.

"Julie was dying." Evan clarified, having turned away from us, using his desk for support. My gaze narrowed as I slowly turned to Dean, wondering how he felt now for having such a brash attitude.

"You did it to save her?" Dean was instantly contrite.

"She had cancer. They'd stopped treatment, they were moving her into hospice, they kept saying, '_a matter of days_'. So yeah, I made the deal, and I'd do it again. I'd have died for her on the spot." Evan said, turning to explain himself to Dean.

"Did you ever think about her in all this?" Dean questioned, the fire returning to his gaze.

"I did this for her!" Evan disbelievingly stared at Dean, curious as to how this man could judge him for trying to save the one he loved.

"You sure about that? I think you did it for yourself. So you wouldn't have to live without her. Guess what, she's gonna have to live without you now. But what if she knew how much it cost? What if she knew it cost your soul? How do you think she'd feel?" Dean sounded disgusted; for a moment, I noticed Dean wasn't exactly chastising Evan but someone else.

"Okay, that's enough. Evan, sit tight, alright? We're gonna figure this out." Sam grabbed his brother and thoughtfully removed him from the room.

Glancing at Evan, I saw a mixture of emotions flash across his features - fear, anger, regret, misery, and even a glimmer of hope. Stepping closer, I took his hand in mine and gave his a firm squeeze, a small gesture to somehow show him that everything would be okay. Evan slightly nodded in understanding and I released his hand, moving toward the double doors to deal with Dean's inappropriate attitude. I stopped short, overhearing Sam and Dean's conversation drifting through the open archway and leaned in to listened.

"_...I'm gonna go to the crossroads and summon the demon._" Dean's careless voice floated to my ears.

"_Summon-are you nuts?_" Sam question was cynical.

"_Maybe a little. But I can trap it, I can exorcise it, and I can buy us time to figure out something more permanent._" Dean averted, playing as though this was just another job.

"_Yeah, but how much time?_"

"_I don't know, a while? But it's not easy for those suckers to crawl their way back from hell and into the sunshine._" I could sense the nervous confidence that seemed to radiate from Dean.

"_No, no way._"

"_Not allowed to say no Sammy, not unless you've got a better idea._" Dean argued.

"_Dean, you can forget it alright. I'm not letting you summon that demon._" Sam heavily disagreed.

"_Why not?_"

"_Because I don't like where your head is at right now, that's why not._" Sam explained.

"_What're you talking about?_" Dean's coyness even made me tense.

"_You know, you've been on edge ever since we found that crossroads, Dean, and I think I know why._"

"_We don't have time for this._" I could hear Dean's footsteps approach the stairs.

"_Dad. You think maybe dad made one of these deals, huh? Hell I've been thinkin' it; I'm sure you've been thinkin' it too._" Sam confronted his brother.

"_It fits, doesn't it? I'm alive, dad's dead. Yellow-eyed demon was involved. What if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul._" Dean's hard voice was filled with torment, and for a second I had the fleeting desire to comfort him.

Suddenly the familiar scent of rotten eggs filled my nostrils, and Evan's frantic words confirmed my suspicions. "I think I hear it-it's outside!" Without thought, I stepped into the hall and turned to Dean, meeting his gaze. "Don't do anything stupid." He merely nodded at my comment and turned to leave. Unfamiliar anxiety knotted my gut and I spoke before I could stop myself. "Dean," He turned, slight annoyance filling his eyes as I continuously interrupted his leaving. "Be careful, okay?" Dean's gaze softened as he slowly nodded again in response before departing.

Turning to Sam, I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the study, locking the door behind us. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that settled over my form, I hurriedly locked the windows and fireplace grate as Sam followed, sealing them with goofa dust. As we finished, Sam began to pour a protective circle broad enough for three people around Evan.

"What is that stuff?" Evan questioned with curiosity.

"Goofa dust."

"You serious?" Evan was skeptical.

"Yeah, 'fraid so." While Sam continued to pour, I valiantly stepped into the circle, placing a protective hand on Evan. "Look - believe me, don't believe me - whatever you want, but just whatever you do, stay inside the circle alright?"

Using the last of the goofa dust, Sam closed the circle, immediately creating a constricting vice around my soul. Being that the dust was as strong as it was, I slightly began hyperventilating, grasping onto Sam's jacket for support as he entered the circle.

"What's wrong with her?" Evan asked nervously, stepping in front of us as Sam wrapped a steady arm around my waist.

"Allergic." Sam responded quickly, adding a small smile to hopefully cover up the lie.

"I'm fine." I stepped out of Sam's arms and imperceptibly wiped away the small beads of sweat that had formed on my forehead before Evan could notice. Forcibly, I steadied my heartbeat and managed to suppress the demonic shadow enough that I could act normally and help Sam protect Evan. Minutes became lifetimes as we waited for the hellhounds to make their appearance and attempt to drag Evan Hudson's screaming form to hell. Unfortunately to soon the malicious otherworldly sounds of barking and howling filled my ears, and I turned to the double doors guarding the entrance to the study.

"What?" Sam asked, noticing my and Evan's attentions had scattered throughout the room.

"You hear that?" Evan voice quivered.

"I can; I can see them too, Evan. You'll be safe, I promise." I consoled as my eyes carefully scanned the room for any weaknesses.

Evan slightly jumped as the hellhounds began growling at the door, having obviously noticed the restrictive line of goofa dust guarding the entrance. Inadvertently, I pulled Sam behind me as the ferocious beasts began throwing themselves at the doors, barking murderously. Thankfully the doors held against the tremendous weight of the hounds, simply shaking with each blow.

"Just don't move alright. Stay where you are." Sam ordered Evan as I continued to shield them should the hellhounds be successful in breaking in.

Without warning, everything stopped. No hellhounds barged at the door; no snarling, snapping, or growling could be heard. An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of my stomach as Sam and Evan began to restlessly glance around.

"You still hear it?" Sam questioned us as he checked the goofa dust seals to make sure they hadn't been broken.

"No. Is it over?" Evan asked with slight hope. Before we could answer, my gaze flicked to the unsealed grate hidden in the corner where a snarl resounded before a hellhound burst from the vent. "It's here!" Evan cried in despair.

Circling us like a ravenous buzzard, the black hound's crimson gaze bored into my soul, recognizing the darkness there. Elsewhere, I heard Sam restrain Evan as he tried to run from his hellish stalker, commanding him to remain inside the circle. Viciously, the hellhound clawed the floor, standing its ground before me as I guarded its prey. Slowly, my blood began to boil as the demon in me fought for dominance, feeding from the hellhound's savage energy. Pain electrocuted my nerves as the seal on my thigh began to burn with furious heat, making me cry out in agony. Sam pulled me to him as a conspicuous breeze began to blow about the room, soothing the hellfire that burned in my core. Papers scattered across the floor while Sam's grip on me tightened as the protective line of goofa dust began to disperse in the current.

"Circle's broken, come on!" I pushed Sam away from me, forcing him to Evan as we scrambled from the room.

Through the daze, I stumbled after them, feeling the scorching breath of the hound at my heels. Impulsively I turned, swatting the beast into the wall with my adopted demonic strength before sliding into the laundry closet, hearing Sam slam the door behind me. I awkwardly tried to stand before I shoved Sam out of the way, using the reserves of my strength to hold the beast at bay. Several moments passed until finally the aggressive assault stopped and stunning silence rang throughout the household. Too weak to move, my body slowly slid down the door; each breath coming in ragged jerks. Sam bent down to examine me, turning my hand to further inspect the large welt and numerous benign cuts that graced my knuckles after hitting the hellhound. After a few minutes, Sam cautiously left the closet to check the house and returned happily stating the fiend had left. Drained, Sam carried me to the study and instructed me to sleep while we waited for Dean to return. Exhausted, my eyelids softly closed and I quickly fell into a undisturbed sleep.

The low rumble of a well-maintained engine and the country twang of blues coaxed me from my slumber. Recognizing the hushed voices, I pretended to sleep, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"_Demons lie all the time right? Maybe she was lying._" Sam tried to comfort his brother.

"_Come on, is that really what you think? How could he do it?_" Again that unfamiliar need to soothe Dean's aggravation at his father's decision crept into my being.

"_He did it for you._"

"_Exactly. How am I supposed to live with that? You ever thought of him - wherever he is right now? He spent his whole life chasing that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, he should have gone out fighting. That was supposed to be his legacy, you know? Not bargaining with the damn thing - not this._" Dean's voice was filled with spite.

"_How many people do you think dad saved, total?_" Sam asked, redirecting the conversation.

"_That's not the point, Sammy._"

"_Evan Hudson is safe because of what dad taught us. That's his legacy, Dean. Now we're still here man, so we gotta keep going. For him._" Sam desperately tried to get through to his brother. "_Hey Dean?_"

"_Yeah?_"

"_When you were trapping that demon, you weren't - I mean it was all a trick, right? You never considered actually making that deal, right?_" From the backseat, I could sense Sam's uncertainty as if it were tangible.

Dean responded by switching the channel and turning up the radio, a loud blast of classic rock filling the speakers. My mind whirled with the possibility that Dean would have made a deal with the devil to bring his father back; my heart clenched at the thought that I'd come so close to failing my assignment. Yet, somewhere deep inside of myself, I knew that wasn't the only reason I was overcome by anxiety as we sped down the dark pavement, headed for our next destination.


End file.
